Hurrah for Dixie (Part I)

	"Good afternoon, sir!" an invisible female voice excitedly rang out as you swung open the door to your small secluded home, "How was your day?" You turned around to hang up your heavy coat on a hook embedded in the wall, and she stood mere feet away when you turned back.
	Dixie. The droid you once said was "dumped on you" whose company you had grown to love. Over the past year, she managed to lose that heavy English accent, and instead adopted a slightly exaggerated copy of your Southern tongue. You had her fitted for a dark red house dress many months ago, but had only seen her wear it twice since then. In lieu of typical women's garments, she often wore your old pairs of undershirts and pants, which she had mended to fit her short and slender frame. She hardly had a need for shoes, as her feet were flat like the hooves of a horse. You had even jokingly threatened to shoe her and throw her in a stable a few times.
	She looked up at you with a grin awaiting a brief summary of your work day. Since you saw your father do it the day she arrived, it became a habit for you to ruffle her unkempt mound of curled brown hair every time you greeted her. "Work was just fine, Dixie," you said as your hand made contact with the top of her head, "I brought back a few books, in fact." Her smile suddenly faded and her eyes gave a look of mild disappointment, causing you to remove your hand from her hair.
	"...Okay", she squeaked as she turned away towards the kitchen table.
	This unexpected behavior caught you completely off guard, as she would always get giddy like a schoolgirl whenever you brought back books for her to read. She especially loved it when you read to her and performed comical voices when reciting each character's lines. As your hand moved to her chin to gently point her head towards your face, you tried to lift her spirits.
	"What's the matter, hon? You don't like to read anymore?" She put her hand on top of yours and removed it from her chin. Without breaking eye contact with you, she sat down at the table beside you and took a second to compose what she had to say.
	"I'm sorry, sir. It's just... your mother came by today to talk about your brother again, and..."
When she paused, you feared she might tell you some horrible news.
	"My Lord, is he okay?" you impulsively asked. Her smile returned, and she tried to take a less somber tone.
	"Yes, he's fine, but are you aware of what he's doin' right now, sir?" To your knowledge, neither you nor your parents had gotten a letter from him in at least a month.
	"Well," you said while trying to recall the details of his last letter, "he was awarded the rank of captain about two months ago, and-"
	"Your mother told me he's a colonel now. She got a letter from him last night." The sentences hit you like a bullet through the chest, as you realized what this would mean for your already weak reputation when word spreads to town.
	"Wow, that's..." *ahem* "very impressive of him", you murmured. After this war ends, God knows when, he'd return home and be surrounded by hordes of admirers at every social gathering, spinning a web of captivating stories of his heroic charges or how his regiment valiantly slaughtered half the Yankee army. His audience wouldn't dare doubt the validity of his stories. They'd only see the thick weaving golden braids on his sleeves and they'd automatically think he's on General Johnson's level. All the while, you would sit in the corner in silence and watch the orator address his crowd. And afterwards, several ladies will come over to you, not to flirt, but to instead remind themselves of how uninteresting his little brother is.
	"When she told me that, I thought about you, and how you're always complainin' about bein' compared to him all the time." Dixie's voice snapped you back to reality at the table. After visualizing what you believed would become a common scenario, your mood soured.
	"Nobody I know understands how that feels, having your whole life and accomplishments seem insignificant compared to the record of someone who shares your last name," you muttered aloud. She then opened your hand and interlocked her sturdy wooden fingers around yours to try and comfort you.
	"Can I tell you somethin' that's been weighin' on my mind, sir?" she asked. You needed to think about something other than your brother, and hopefully she'd bring up another subject, so you gave her a slight nod of approval.
	"Every day when I look out the window and see you on the dirt trail comin' back from town, I hope and pray that you'll tell me you just enlisted in the army. Of course, when you don't mention it, I get a little disappointed. I could hide it well before, but after hearin' about your brother's rank, I... just couldn't."
	She gave a pause and waited for an outburst from you. She was well aware of how you felt about being harassed for your lack of contribution to the war, but instead of giving an anticipated shout, you were more curious as to why she wanted you to enlist. "Why?" you asked with a hint of annoyance.
	"Well, sir, I believe the only way for your legacy to be comparable to his is to try and beat him at his own game. A few medals of bravery mean more to folks than a high rank. You should enlist and try to top his heroism!" she exclaimed with a big smile.
	Without changing your expression, you slowly stood up and walked around the long table in a circle, mulling over what she just said. The more you silently repeated it to yourself, the more it made sense. Knowing your family and (former) friends, nothing you could do outside the army would ever overshadow his achievements, but even if you were to fall in combat, you could count on at least a few people to call you brave. Better yet, what if you climbed up the ranks faster than him? How humiliated would he be to find himself taking orders from his younger brother?
	She saw a mischievous grin form on your face as you came around the table corner again. Your prophecy, in Dixie's eyes, was starting to come true.
	"You know what?" you stopped moving and looked down at her, "...Y-yeah, I- I think I'll do it!" you announced, immediately regretting opening your mouth upon hearing that infamous stutter, which seemed to only appear just when you forgot you had it. Dixie let out a short giggle in reply.
	"That's good to hear, and I think it's awful cute when you stutter, Anon, er- sir!"
Hearing her call you by your first name in replacement of "sir" felt so much more endearing, and at that moment of peak determination, you wanted her to know.
	"Dixie, from now on, you can call me Anon instead of sir. It sounds too formal, and you're not the one enlisting tomorrow."